Damned Dwarf
by Pledgling
Summary: Fenris/f!Hawke. What does Hawke do when she seeks the advise from a wise dwarf about her problems with Fenris? Rated M for use of alcohol and language.


Fenris had always been a very mysterious creature. Occasionally, he'd blurt out what had happened in his previous life, confessing all of his secrets. And Hawke just listened to him. Hawke _had_ to listen. This was Fenris, stating his life, somewhat asking for guidance and forgiveness for what happened. And Hawke was going to give it to him. But not tonight—it had ended with a feat of yelling—mostly on Fenris's part. He was angered, perhaps because Hawke had nothing but utmost respect and love for him. Perhaps Fenris couldn't wrap his brilliant mind around the fact that there _was_ someone out there willing to love Fenris unconditionally, who didn't care who he was, just who he is.

Hawke stood outside of Fenris's mansion, her fingers trailing over the heavy wooden door. He had thrown her out, slammed the door on her. The ache in her chest was one that left her hollow inside. A frustration that couldn't be sated any time soon and she knew it. She closed her eyes and sighed, bringing her staff closer to her and walking home. The streets were perilous in the night, but she didn't care at the moment. Anyone who messed with the Champion this night would meet their Maker. She hadn't the care for a plea, for any hope of survival by anyone who tried to rob her, or kill her. Her mind was only wrapped around Fenris and one question: _Why?_

x – x – x – x

"And he threw me out."

"By the stone, that elf is thick," Varric muttered. "No one gives a damn about his life before. We all love him. Well, not as much as you."

Hawke glanced at Varric. She had sought his guidance in the Hanged Man that night. She couldn't bear going home alone yet another night. Varric had always been a good friend—he was like an older brother, one who just cared about you no matter what happened. And she was eternally grateful for this.

"'_To love is to die,_'" Hawke muttered, quoting one of the lines in her favorite books. Varric just stared at her with light brown eyes.

"I think you've died enough, Sunshine. I think you need to just walk up there and—"

"And what?" Hawke demanded, looking up from her ale. "I can't do _anything_ when he's like this! He thinks it would be easy to just let go, yell at me and throw me out but it isn't. Which is why he hasn't left. Hasn't fled Kirkwall. Which is why he won't stop wearing that band I've given him. He doesn't understand how much it _hurts_ when he does that."

"I'm sure if he did, he'd shit bricks." Varric grinned and leaned forward. "Between me and you, Sunshine, I think you need to tell him."

Hawke held her breath. "Tell him?"

"How much you love him. Because you obviously do."

She shook her head. "He'd just yell at me." She took a long drink from her ale before Varric leaned back into his chair, the old, beaten up, wooden chair creaking in protest.

"You'll see."

x – x – x – x

And there Hawke was, standing in front of Fenris's door. If she had any luck, Fenris would be covered in Agreggio and passed out on his bed, but she had hoped she got here before that had happened. She opened the door that was always unlocked. She recalled Fenris saying something about, "An open door for Danarius to meet his fate."

She looked up the stairs. Her nose long sense forgotten the sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh. The corpses of the men they slew were still on the ground, but she didn't bear a glance at them.

"Why are you here?" Fenris's deep voice boomed through the mansion, reverberating off every angle of the walls.

"Why do you think?" Hawke said, climbing the stairs, a hand on the rail.

"Leave."

She sighed and continued before she caught Fenris at the top, staring at her with his intense green eyes. "I said—"

"I know what you said," Hawke snapped, a trickle of anger rolling down her spine. For years she had allowed Fenris his space, to do what he wanted… But now she couldn't take it anymore. She needed to know—did he love her or not.

Hawke was shorter than Fenris, but not by much. But, with a few stairs separating them, Fenris was a good foot taller than her, so she looked up at him.

"What am I to you?"

Fenris blinked, obviously not ready for that question. "You're Hawke."

She gritted her teeth. "_What am I to you?_" she stated this loudly, and slowly to get her point across.

Fenris shifted, feeling the dominance he once held fall at the anger of this woman. Hawke never rose up against him, just did what he wanted. And now she was defying him…

"You are a leader, a good one. And a mage."

"So that's what I am? A mage? That's it?"

Fenris seemed confused now, not knowing what was her intention behind these questions. She soon closed the distance between them as she climbed the stairs more.

"To you, mages are sick pieces of abomination waiting to happen. Is that what I am?"

"Mages are sick pieces of abomination waiting to happen. But you… you are different?"

"How?"

Fenris stayed silent for a moment before turning around and walking to his room and closing it shut.

"Stubborn elf…" she muttered this and walked to his door, banging on it. "If I'm different, tell me how!"

There was no answer, which only enraged Hawke more.

"Open this damn door, or Maker help me, I will _blow it down!_"

There was no response, which caused Hawke to get into a stance, about to blow the door down with a nice, large fireball. She gathered her energy and the words almost left her lips before Fenris opened the door.

"I love you."

The three words that came out of his mouth startled her, making her stand there with wide eyes. The way she looked was utterly silly, but neither of them could have cared at the moment.

"What?"

"I love you." His voice was more confident before he walked to her. "I don't trust mages, but, Hawke… I trust you. I've always wondered why I followed your lead so obediently. At first, I thought it was because you were trying to make me your slave. Become a Magister yourself. But, as time went on, you gave me space. You let me do what I wished and often helped. You are not a Magister. And I've learned that I care for you. More than I should."

She just stood there, her chest tightening for a moment before she dropped her staff with a clank. "I'm the only mage you trust?"

Fenris nodded, albeit reluctantly. It was hard for him, she knew, to admit a mage had control over him.

Hawke didn't know what to do but run up to him and press her lips to his. He hardly seemed startled by the action and wrapped his armored arms around her, tangling one clawed hand in her black hair.

"That damned dwarf was right."

"About what?" Fenris's voice was quiet as he opened his eyes to look at her.

"You'd shit bricks when I told you how much I care for you."

"Now that's just gross."

Hawke laughed, looking at him happily. "No, what's gross is the wine on your breath."

Fenris smirked. "And the ale on yours."

"Fenris," she groaned, pulling him closer and laughing.


End file.
